


to be seen

by alwayssomethingelse



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: F/F, Friendship, Older Women, Older lesbians, Pre Relationship, Prequel, Vision Problems, friendship struggles, macular degeneration
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-26 09:02:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4998793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alwayssomethingelse/pseuds/alwayssomethingelse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some time ago, samanthafeng asked me to do a Drabble around how Maggie discovered Jocelyn's deteriorating vision. I couldn't limit such a rich prompt to 100 words!</p><p>It's never easy to bring up a subject Jocelyn doesn't want to talk about, but Maggie has the tenacity of a terrier, and won't let things lie...</p><p>Set approximately 4 years before Season 2</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. an unexpected sight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SamanthaFeng](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SamanthaFeng/gifts).



It begins on a hot Friday morning, when Maggie has paused in her typing of a piece on the closure of the local cottage hospital. The fan in the Echo offices has long since failed to work. Even with every window cranked open, allowing in the faintest breath of air and the caterwauling of gulls and holiday makers both, it is still sweltering and stale - thick enough to cut a knife through. The dense hear is almost making her feel claustrophobic, and she decides it's time to take five minutes; walk up the street, feel the sun on her face, her hair, her back, and get a coffee. No, even better than that, an iced coffee, or whatever fancy thing they're calling it these days. 

With Maggie, to think is to act, and within moments she has saved her work and cut through the office, pausing only to check if anyone else wants something from the van at the promenade. As she ambles down the main street, enjoying the soft, warm breeze brought up from the sea, Maggie feels her shoulders ease and her body loosen. She really must get on to head office about a grant to get the environmental system fixed. It's freezing - and damp - in winter, and boiling in summer. Not conducive working conditions, and the Herald is trying to make itself into a good employer. Ha! Chance would be a fine thing. She's nearly at the zebra crossing to the prom when she hears her name being called by a vaguely familiar voice.

"Maggie! Maggie! Wait up a mo'!"

She slows and turns her head back to see who the caller is. Black hair, young lad... Yes, she does know his face as well as his voice, he's the one who always had questions for her when a couple of the kids did work experience in the Echo the other year. Oliver, yes, that's it. Oliver Stephens.

"What can I do for you Oliver?" She greets him as he reaches her.

"Ta Maggie. Lovely day, innit?" Is that a touch of a blush he's wearing, or is he just sunburnt? Now that he's in front of her, he seems in less of a hurry to share his thoughts.

"Well?" Maggie lifts her eyebrows and resists the urge to look at her watch. The life of a Broadchurch reporter is not so busy that she can't wait for someone to catch their breath.

After a few false starts, Oliver manages, "can I buy you a drink? Or an ice cream?" 

Maggie's eyebrows raise further, almost into her fringe. Whatever can the boy want that he's trying that old dodge? Oh... She nods and leads the way across the crossing, straight to the long queue at Margaret's stand.

"How's school going Oliver? You must be nearly finished now?" She feels like an old maiden aunt. He colours again.

"It's grand. At least, I think it is. Finished my last exam yesterday. That's me done now." He's clearly edging around something, and Maggie has a growing suspicion she knows what. 

Reaching the counter, she asks Margaret for an iced coffee, "double shots, and whatever Ollie's having." Maggie turns to him, "go on."

"Oh, err. Um. I'll have a Fanta, please." He's fumbling with his back pocket, trying to get a very grown up wallet out. 

"Don't worry petal, this one's on me." Maggie grins as he stammers his thanks; collects her change and the drinks from Margaret, and moves over to the sea wall. "Never let someone have an advantage over you if you think they want something, Oliver. First lesson in Journalism." The poor boy really is blushing now. "And the second is that I always have at least two shots, milk, no sugar." She raises an eyebrow. "I _am_ right that you're coming looking for a summer job?"

"I... ah... Well. Yes. Please." The wind completely out of his sails, Oliver seems to be reformatting his plan of how this meeting would go, and it gives Maggie ample chance to get a measure of him. Quick. Eager to please. Not afraid of asking, even if he does need to learn how to follow through. Yes, he'll do for an apprentice, and she always likes to give the local kids a hand up if she can. It's how she got into the job, after all. Long time ago that was. And it's just as she turns back to him, to make some comment about the official process, that it happens. 

Jocelyn Knight, in her casual 'weekend at home' clothes, walks straight past them. Without even a wave, or a wink, or any kind of acknowledgement. Even though she was surely looking straight at Maggie. Oliver doesn't notice, of course. Indeed, he probably doesn't know that she is Jocelyn's closest friend in the area. She's so rarely at home, and even when she is, so guarded of her private life that half the village still refer to her as Miss Knight. But Maggie doesn't think Jocelyn has ever walked past her like that, since before they first met. 

It is only when Oliver starts to speak again, that Maggie realises her mouth is hanging open, and her eyes are following her friend rather than focussing on the over eager would be intern. 

"...don't you think?" Drat! He's just asked her something, and she can either nod and hmm, or admit that she wasn't listening to a word he said. 

"Sorry, what was that sweetheart? I...thought I saw someone." Maggie gives one last searing glance up the path towards Clifftop Way, and then turns her attention fully back to Oliver.

"I was just saying I think getting experience on the job is the best learning there is. I mean, that's why I..."

"Oh, yes. Completely agree. That's how it always was in my day..." Maggie cringes inwardly as the words come out. "I mean, it's how it's always been done, and much as degrees and all that are good, there's nothing like real lived experienced as a teacher." _Such as the real lived experienced that Jocelyn Knight would never walk past her - company or otherwise - without saying hello._ Maggie shakes herself. She'll worry about this later. 

"Now, about your CV..."

***

Having dialled the familiar number, Maggie sits, unaware that she's holding her breath; tapping her index finger nervously on the edge of her desk. One ring. Two. Three. Jocelyn's clipped and proper voice answers on the fourth ring.

"Hello, 294747, Jocelyn speaking." She's never got out of the habit of having to differentiate between herself and her mother's voices. 

"Hullo yourself..."

"Maggie! Now how did you know I was down? I only decided last night, and it seemed too late to let you know." Jocelyn sounds genuinely surprised, and for all she's the best Prosecution Barrister in the land, Maggie knows full well she's also a lousy liar outside of Court.

"Call it a hunch, petal. Something in the air just told me the Broadchurch girl done good was back in town... How's tricks?" Mostly reassured that Jocelyn hadn't purposefully ignored her, Maggie searches quickly for a reason to be calling. 

"Fine. We closed the Crown vs Spence case yesterday. Earlier than expected." Jocelyn pauses, as if trying to recall whether Maggie even knows about that case. (She does.) "And the Nursing Home phoned to say they were moving Mum into a different wing, so I thought I'd come down and... see that she was ok." 

"Have you been out to see her yet? Veronica?" Over eleven years later and Maggie still calls Jocelyn's mum by her name; it comes of having gotten friendly with Veronica first, before being introduced to her worldly, intelligent daughter. It's a few weeks since she's been out to the nursing home herself, actually, and that remiss feeling lowers in her stomach. 

"Yes, I called out over lunch." Clear and cool, always Jocelyn, always sticking to the bare facts. Maggie has to pry her open like a clam; something she has come to take wry amusement in doing.

"And...? How is she?" It never fails to interest her, the different ways in which they see the changes in the elderly lady. Of course, it's different for her, watching a friend and fond face slowly disintegrate; different than if she were a much loved mother. She hadn't had that opportunity with her own, of course; she doesn't know what it feels like, doesn't want to presume anything. There is another pause, and Maggie thinks she can hear the difference in this one; the sound of Jocelyn pulling her thoughts together, reckoning what she can safely say. After eleven years, Maggie knows her well enough to know that she is the person Jocelyn will speak most frankly to - but even with that position, she isn't privy to every thought or feeling. 

"She's... She's comfortable. Seems to like her new room, in as much as she takes it in. She's in the Primrose Wing now, if you're calling in. It's what they call 'EMI'. The manager said she needed the more specialist care they give there." Abruptly, she stops, as if the knowledge that her mother has ascended to a higher level of care is a brick wall in Jocelyn's understanding of her illness. "I'm not sure I see it, Maggie. She's quieter, less responsive... More... gentle." 

Maggie is nodding down the phone, and then she realises that Jocelyn can't see that. "Mmm. Yes petal, I think _gentle_ is an apt description." 

For a moment, there is silence on both ends of the line, and then,

"Does she know you when you visit, Maggie?" Jocelyn asks, short as ever.

 _Oh sweetheart!_ Maggie thinks to herself, heart sore by the plaintive tone in her friend's voice. She sighs with the reality of the answer. "No... No. She hasn't known me for... oh. A year and a half, maybe?" Which is true, but what else can she say? "Does she...?"

"Not really." Jocelyn's response is flat, and bluntly hacks at Maggie. "I... Sometimes I think she does. And then I persuade myself that the other times it's just my imagination. But..."

"...today she didn't?" Maggie finishes for her, nodding again. "Listen petal, it's going to be a gorgeous evening, if today's anything to go by. D'you want to take the boat out? I'll bring a picnic..." She lifts her voice, tries to sound as appealing as possible. And truthfully, she hasn't been out on the Jocelyn's little cruiser since last summer, and if any day were perfect for it, today is. 

Jocelyn considers the suggestion, and Maggie can almost see the tilt of her head, the curve of her lips. 

"Alright then... Yes. Yes, that would be nice. Can we make it about six thirty though... I'll go in to mum over tea time, give a hand with feeding her..." Her voice breaks slightly, and Maggie can hear the struggle to keep it under control. "Then I'll come down to the marina after that. You go on down whenever you like though. You know where the key is, don't you?"

"As long as you haven't moved it?"

"Not in a lifetime. Make yourself at home, as always." Jocelyn's voice sounds cheerier now the emotion is caught and pinned down. "I'll see you then." She pauses. "And Maggie? Thank you." 

Before Maggie can murmur a surprised acknowledgement to a sentiment rarely expressed, Jocelyn has put the phone down and the dialling tone burrs in her ear. Thoughtfully, she lowers the receiver, cradling it in her hand for a minute, finger tapping at the desk again. Then she inhales deeply, lifts her shoulders, replaces the phone and gets back to the computer. She doesn't feel any more the wiser than she did before, but at least she's sure that Jocelyn wasn't purposefully ignoring her. As she copies and pastes interview quotes into the article, Maggie's mind wanders to elements of the evening's picnic. She has a few meringues at home; she could easily pick up some cream and fresh strawberries for an Eton Mess - a pudding she has a notion is one of Jocelyn's guilty pleasures.


	2. Scene at Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An evening meal on board _Anne_ and Maggie is no more the wiser as to what seems 'off' about Jocelyn... But there's plenty of bickering, meanwhile, and something to celebrate, too.

Maggie leaves work on time - for a wonder - and goes straight to the supermarket. If she'd allowed more time for this plan, she might have cooked a chicken to have some sliced, cold. But time is of essence so she gives quiet thanks for the small deli counter, and picks up a selection of nibbles. Kalamata and Halkidiki Olives, because Jocelyn won't touch the cheap pitted versions - 'too briny'; sun dried tomatoes; houmous, tsatziki, taramasalata; rosemary and sea salt crisp breads. She knows her Jocelyn well enough by now. Sliced Italian meats, a potato salad that she can chirp up with a couple of peppers lying around the fridge; the components of a regular salad. It's nothing much, but given the heat of the evening, she doesn't think they'll want a heavy meal. A white burgundy, smart enough to appease Jocelyn's taste, cheap enough for her wallet. She gets to the car before remembering the strawberries and cream, and has to run back in.

At home, Maggie opens all the windows in the flat as wide as possible, puts Joni Mitchell's _Blue_ on and dances round the kitchen as she packs the old wicker picnic basket that was one of the few things she claimed from her parent's home when she and her siblings sold up. There's a message on the answer machine from Lil, a University Lecturer in Journalism that she met at a conference recently, suggesting they meet up. Maggie saves it for later, knowing full well she's not in the mental space to think about getting to know someone new when she's worrying about whatever it is that's wrong with Jocelyn. 

" _All I really want..."_ she finds herself humming along with the song, and shakes her head. _That's_ a long list. And yet, a strangely compact one too. Eleven years hasn't rid her of the pain of knowing Jocelyn lacks the courage to acknowledge her feelings, but they have dulled it to a certain extent. That said, whenever she thinks there's something wrong; whenever her journalist-caring-Maggie-sense tells her Jocelyn's not quite right, she goes running. Her most recent ex, Jude, had accused her of caring more for Jocelyn than she does for herself. That's not exactly true. Maggie has a deep appreciation for her own wellbeing, and is _mostly_ willing to take the time to take care of herself as well as her lovers. But on some level, she has long ago realised that Jocelyn is a part of her. Even if she doesn't dare to see if for herself. Even if the nearest she gets to admitting it is an abrupt 'thank you', or the trusting of her with the pain of her mother's decline. Like the proverbial itch that has to be scratched, Maggie can never entirely let go of this strange, fierce creature that drew her in by means of late night conversations, philosophical arguments over wine and sultry evenings spent by the pool. 

She realises she's been chopping the lettuce so finely it's literally shredded and shakes her head. Enough. At this rate she'll barely be down at the marina before Jocelyn. Filling a Tupperware box with the salad, Maggie casts around for a small jar to make up a simple dressing in. Digs out the plates and cutlery she keeps especially for picnics on _Anne_ , the glasses, napkins; double checks everything is packed. There are a couple of cushions on the boat, she knows, and a small camping table she gave Jocelyn to sit in the cockpit for evenings like these. Maggie smiles at the memory the thought triggers. Jocelyn hadn't been able to understand the necessity of a table, because it had never occurred to her to eat on board. She had mainly used _Anne_ for fishing, and as a base for swimming - until Maggie. 

Closing the windows over with a curse for the change in society that necessitates such a move, even in Broadchurch, Maggie picks up the basket and locks the door behind her. She'll walk down, it's not far and she has every intention of having more than a glass tonight. It's been a long week, and she's glad of the excuse to relax, even if it is ostensibly for Jocelyn's sake. Down the street, various locals call out greetings, and she stops to query over how business is going for Becca; to congratulate Maria and George on their impending arrival; to smile at Jack marshalling the sea cadets. It's twenty past by the time she's making her way through the busy marina, nodding to the locals, smiling at the visitors. 

"Hi Maggie!" The voice causes her to look back; it's Oliver again, on board his small boat with Tom Miller, Mark Latimer and Danny too. 

"Hiya Mags!" Echoes Mark, a slightly guilty flush coming over his cheeks.

"Alright Mark, when'm I going to see your ad renewal then?" She keeps it jolly though, Mark knows well the price he pays for not always being on time - if ever she has need of his services, he's out to fix the problem within the hour. 

"Next week, I promise." He winks, boyish charm shining through, and not for the first time, Maggie wonders how he's old enough to be a father. "Anyway, what're you doing down here? S'not often we see you this near the water... Planning an article on the marina fees hike?"

Maggie laughs. "We'll see." And waves a hand as she walks on. Now that she's so near, she just wants to be on the boat and settled. When she gets there, she finds she has indeed beaten Jocelyn to _Anne_ , and she dumps the wicker basket on the pontoon whilst considering the tarpaulin cover. Maggie's not so much of a wet bob as to be certain how to go about removing it, but it seems a bit daft to just undo enough to be able to get aboard and unlock the tiny cabin. She is disturbed from her reverie by a light poke in the side and a jokey voice commenting,

"It won't take itself off, you know." As Jocelyn passes her and leans in to undo one of the knots. Maggie grins at the back of her wavy head and follows her lead, working her fingers into rope stiff from months of taut tension. Jocelyn is more nimble, and has the stern end of the tarp thrown back long before Maggie succeeds with the midship knot and joins her in the cockpit. Without being told, she reaches under a seat for the cabin door key, unlocks it and slides the panels out, stowing them securely. While Jocelyn grapples with the plastic, Maggie eases herself, and the picnic basket, into the small cabin, smiling at her own familiarity with their routine. 

"Catch!" The evening light is momentarily blocked out as Jocelyn passes down the rolled up plastic, followed by the two starboard fenders. "Are you all sorted?"

"Shipshape and ready to go!" Maggie calls back with a chuckle. "D'you want your life jacket? No need for oilies today!" The last time they'd been out was the previous October, when half way through the day the sky had opened and deposited a small monsoon upon them. 

Jocelyn shakes her head and laughs derisively. "No, but you do if you want."

Maggie considers the horseshoe shaped vest for a moment, then shakes her head. It's as calm as can be out, and while she's not in Jocelyn's league, she's a good enough swimmer if anything did happen. As she stows the picnic basket, Maggie hears Jocelyn turn the key, and start the engine, leaving it idling. 

"Are you going to stay down there all night, or d'you want to give me a hand?" Jocelyn calls through, just as Maggie turns to clamber back into the cockpit. "You steer, I'll sort out the warps." This has become a regular arrangement, and Maggie takes the wheel with confidence. Jocelyn steps deftly on to the pontoon, unites the two ropes and loosely hooks them round the cleats. She jumps back on, warps in hand, and gives Maggie a nod.

"Ready?" 

"Ready." Maggie shifts into forward and eases _Anne_ out into the open harbour. Although she can't see her, she knows Jocelyn will be drawing the ropes in and coiling them neatly; then pulling in the other fenders and untying them. Sure enough, as she turns the wheel to direct _Anne's_ nose to the harbour mouth, Jocelyn moves past her to throw the fenders below. Maggie tuts for the untidiness - on board being the only time she leaves behind her own messy style, but smiles all the same. It's good to see that some things don't change. 

"Do you want me to take over?" Jocelyn comes to stand beside her.

Maggie considers. "I'm happy enough petal. Where're we heading for?" 

"I thought we'd go starboard and moor off Thorncombe Beacon, in that sort of a bay there. Less people."

"Misanthrope." But Maggie laughs, and turns the wheel to the right - it has taken her the better part of a decade to become intuitively familiar with boating language, but Jocelyn insisted, and refused point blank to use layman's terms with her. With the engine middling, they motor along the foot of the clifftop walk, past Jocelyn's house, past the steeple of St Bede's, and Briar Cliff hut, high above them,until after about twenty minutes Maggie feels they're nearing the bay Jocelyn means. She glances behind her, to where Jocelyn sits, head and arms thrown back, sunglasses on, looking like a film star. Swallowing down a rush of attraction, she coughs. "Are you going to handle the anchor or do I have to do all the work round here?"

Jocelyn starts, drawing her hands back down to her lap. "Hardly noticed the time go. Right, if you bring her in a bit further, yes, that's it, now round to face back to Broadchurch, and I'll drop the anchor." She busies herself with the stern locker, and it's only when Maggie knocks the engine back to idling that she notices Jocelyn is still bent over it. 

"Everything ok petal?" She turns back to Jocelyn, who doesn't answer for a moment. "Jocelyn?"

"It's fine! I just can't..." she seems to be struggling with something. Maggie loops the bungee cable over the wheel to keep the course steady, and moves over to Jocelyn's side. "It's knotted. _You_ mustn't have put it away tidily last time." Jocelyn sounds accusatory. 

"Ha! I'd be hard put to, given it was you stowed it, as I recall..." but the response pauses on Maggie's tongue as she notices how unduly stressed Jocelyn seems to be. "Give it here, if it's my fault, I'll fix it." She elbows until Jocelyn budges over a little, and spots the problem tangle. It takes a moment to sort it, and then she straightens up, hanging the coil to Jocelyn. "There you are skipper."

"Hmph." Jocelyn mutters a thank you and winds the rope back and forth between a couple of cleats, before checking that it's secure, and reaching for the anchor and chain itself. 

Maggie watches her lower the anchor, then, and feed the chain out, followed by the rope, but nothing more seems amiss. When she's content that enough of the line has been paid out, Jocelyn re-secures it, and hitches the bitter end round a cleat in the cockpit. 

"Sorted? Ready for your tea?" Without waiting for an answer, Maggie steps below, nearly tripping over one of the abandoned fenders. Rolling her eyes, she pulls out the camping table and thrusts it through into the cockpit. "Can you take this?" Jocelyn does. 

Five minutes later and they're sat facing each other, fiercely debating BBC3 over BBC2, and Maggie is pouring the wine. 

"We always have classical, can we not have Carrington just once?" Maggie flicks her hair out of her eyes and pleads. 

"But they're performing Saint-Saens tonight. You know how I love his cello concertos..." 

Maggie shakes her head. "Which means I'll probably have to put up with the full _Danse Macabre_ , at the very least. Jocelyn..." She leans over to hand Jocelyn her glass.

" _No!_ " Jocelyn takes the wine, but is too slow to catch Maggie's outstretched arm as she grabs at the radio. 

"Ha!" Triumphant, Maggie twiddles the knob to find Radio 2, and the comforting voice of Desmond, reminiscing about something his cat had done. 

"Bully." Jocelyn is pouting, and Maggie can't help but grin.

"You wouldn't have me any other way! Now, would you like to take a plate and make a start?" Maggie fixes her gaze on Jocelyn, as she holds out a dish and cutlery. Jocelyn half rises to take it, and at the last minute, makes a long arm for the radio - successfully, but nearly knocking Maggie's wine from her spare hand. Jocelyn lowers herself back into her seat, clutching her prize. 

"Next time, I promise." She looks across, half apologetic at Maggie, before turning to look at the station controller, and twisting it with her fingers. First she moves it too far one way, and hits static, and then far enough back to almost catch Carrington again. It's the third try before she successfully reaches the familiar sounds of the _Danse Macabre_.

Maggie groans, loudly. "See! I _told_ you." 

Jocelyn turns the volume down. "At least while we're eating." She glances at the spread Maggie has laid before them. "I don't know what I've done to deserve this."

"No, neither do I." Maggie laughs in spite of herself. "You really are impossible Jocelyn." She proffers the dish again. "Come on, get on with it." 

Taking the dish, Jocelyn shifts herself and her cushion till she's no longer directly opposite Maggie, but off to the right. There is silence over the quiet music as they pick over the buffet. Maggie only looks up at an exclamation from Jocelyn. She raises an eyebrow.

"Damn olive keeps escaping." Jocelyn replies to the unasked question. Maggie nods, and goes back to serving herself some Parma ham - but she watches Jocelyn out of the corner of her eye. She seems to have trouble separating out the slices of salami, as well, and Maggie notices her blinking rapidly.

"Have you got something in your eye petal?" 

"No!" Snappish, Jocelyn spoons some salad onto her plate. "It's fine. I'm fine." 

Maggie shakes her head slightly. Clearly, Jocelyn isn't, but there doesn't appear to be anything she can point to the contrary. She balances her plate on her knee and lifts her glass again. 

"Well, what shall we drink to? Your next case?"

"How about you getting the Herald's Editor of the Year?" Jocelyn glances at Maggie from under hooded eyes, and smiles slyly.

"Now how did you know about _that_? I only got the notification yesterday, it's not even public yet." 

Jocelyn's grin broadens. "Did it not occur to you to wonder who proposed you?"

Maggie's eyes widen, and she puts her glass down. "You...? But I thought..." 

"You thought!" Jocelyn scoffs. "I'm not that transparent yet, I hope." 

Flabbergasted, Maggie finds herself lost for words. "Well! I... Oh. Well, um..."

"A simple thank you would suffice." By the look on her face, Jocelyn is enjoying this far too much.

"Oh sweetheart, thank you." And she means it, for all Maggie is incredulous. "But last I recall you were calling the Echo a rag, and my editorials 'sentimental populism'." 

Jocelyn smirks. "Well it is and they are, but everyone's got to be good at something. I thought it was a while since you got your last Press Gazette award, and it'll do Broadchurch no harm either." She glances at Maggie again. "And, you know, there are weeks when your editorials rise above and actually have some meat to them."

"Charmed, I'm sure." Maggie huffs. "With friends like you..."

"Without friends like me, you wouldn't have an excuse for looking like that."

"Like what?"

"Smug." Jocelyn winks. It's a familiar charge that each has used against the other over the years.

"Hmm, well I'm glad there's only one of you petal, I don't know if I could handle more." Maggie takes a large mouthful of wine, and raises her glass once again. "Cheers!" and Jocelyn echoes her. 

Over dinner they talk lightly of the goings on that don't make it into the Echo - which Maggie dutifully sends up to Jocelyn's London address each week. For someone who holds herself rather above the town at times, she's remarkably interested in the day to day dross of everyday town life. Not that she'd ever admit it. 

"And then of course, there was Elsie Dunner's court case, what did you make of that, by the by?" A case of repeated shoplifting, it's hardly Jocelyn's level, but Maggie is interested to hear her thoughts nonetheless.

"What? You didn't tell me about that. Elsie...Isn't she that woman who used to run the donkey rides?"

"It was in the Echo three weeks ago, and I mentioned it in the editorial... So busy you're not bothering to keep up-to-date?" 

"I'll swear it wasn't!" Jocelyn hotly denies. "I've read each one cover to cover!" 

"It was there alright. A bit on page two, further on page eleven, as well as my own bit. You getting absent minded in your old age flower?"

Colouring, Jocelyn protests. "I am not. _You_ must be mixing it up. So, tell me."

Maggie toys with winding her a up bit further, but something about Jocelyn's reaction gives her pause, and instead, she complies with the order, at length.

"...So what I want to know is whether the defence should have ordered a psychiatric evaluation to prove that she's a kleptomaniac, and if they had done, would she still be receiving a custodial sentence? Because if that really is her problem, then surely prison isn't really going to help her, is it?" Maggie faces Jocelyn squarely. "What do you think?"

"Well, I'm no psychiatrist, and without knowing the details - I mean, seeing the files, not what you've been able to tell me..." Jocelyn cuts off Maggie's interruption with a wave of her hand. "It's hard to know. But yes, on the whole I'd be inclined to say that professionals should be allowed to do their jobs, and really, not getting her properly evaluated seems lazy to say the least. So I'd say there's a problem there. And since the judge has imposed a custodial sentence, she would have grounds to appeal, in that if she is a kleptomaniac, then she wasn't responsible, per se, and treatment would be more helpful than prison."

Maggie nods, her eyes still on Jocelyn's face. "Yes, that's what I thought. Hmm." 

"What?" Jocelyn pins her with a glance.

"Nothing... You sound dreadfully suspicious." Maggie turns wide, forcibly innocent eyes on her friend.

"I know you, Maggie, what are you planning _this_ time?" 

"How do you know I'm planning anything?" Maggie raises her eyebrows. "You make it sound like I'm not to be trusted."

"Hmph, sometimes you're not. Not when you get the bit between your teeth."

"That's what makes me such a good journalist, as you ought to appreciate."

"True." Jocelyn follows begrudging acknowledgement by filling up their glasses. "So what is it?"

Maggie sighs. "Only that I was going to visit her, and I might suggest she mentions it to her solicitor. I think it's Peter Benn who was dealing with her case, and he's always struck me as a decent human being. Maybe he could prod the barrister, I forget who it was. I just don't see how locking her up is going to help anything."

Jocelyn rolls her eyes. "Maggie bloody Radcliffe, champion butter-in and solver of other people's problems."

"Absolutely! And don't you forget it petal. You might find it comes in useful one day. Now, how about some Eton Mess?"

"Oooh, you know the way to my heart." Jocelyn stacks their plates. 

"Well, your stomach, at least." Maggie clears the little table off, and steps below to hand up the tub of whipped cream and strawberries, and the bag of meringues. "Just crush those, there's a gem. I'll sort this mess out."

The sun is low in the sky by the time they finish dessert, and Maggie glances to it with disappointment. 

"I'd hoped to have a swim this evening, but really, by the time our meal has settled, there'll be no sun left, let alone heat in it."

"Well why don't you come over tomorrow afternoon? I told them in the home I'd go in to help with mum's lunch, and maybe take her out afterwards. But I should be home by four, four thirty. Come over then and we can have a swim, and I'll do tea after."

"Oooohhh." Maggie stretches her arms out luxuriously behind her. "You might be on to a winner there. Let's call it four thirty, I've got to go into the office for a few hours, that gives me a definite reason to be done by then."

"Right you are, four thirty it is. Now, I think we should be heading back, unless you want to navigate the harbour by leading lights only..."

"Thanks, but that's an adventure I'd rather be spared." Maggie's tone is dry, but memories of a _Swallows and Amazons_ story bring a smile to her face. "Better drowned than duffers, after all."

Jocelyn laughs. "And if not duffers, won't drown. Indeed. Anyway, I promised Jack I'd meet him for a return match. He beat me last time, and I can't let that rest."

"No, you never can." Maggie retorts. It's been a long time since _she_ has challenged Jocelyn to a game of chess, having been beaten soundly every single time. "What time are you meeting him?"

"I just said I'd call by when we got in. But as it's going for eight thirty already, and we'll be a good half an hour getting back, so I think we'd better make tracks."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Responsible adult note: please always wear your life jacket when on board a boat, even on a beautiful calm evening... (do as I say, not as I do! :p )


End file.
